his system so; there was also the shock he had received in his
flight down the glacier. In his delirium he seemed to be always with
Lawless:

"'For it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise'--It's share and share
even, Lawless, and ye'll ate the rest of it, or I'll lave ye--Did ye
say ye'd found water--Lawless--water!--Sure you're drinkin' none
yourself--I'll sing it again for you then--'And it's back with the ring
of the chain and the spur'--'But burn all your ships behind you'--'I'll
never go back to Farcalladen more!'"

Sir Duke's fingers had a trick of kindness, a suggestion of comfort,
a sense of healing, that made his simple remedies do more than natural
duty. He was doctor, nurse,--sleepless nurse,--and careful apothecary.
And when at last the danger was past and he could relax watching, he
would not go, and he did not go, till they could all travel to the Pipi
Valley.

In the blue shadows of the firs they stand as we take our leave of one
of them. The Honourable and Sir Duke have had their last words, and Sir
Duke has said he will remember about the hunting traps. They understand
each other. There is sunshine in the face of all--a kind of Indian
summer sunshine, infused with the sadness of a coming winter; and theirs
is the winter of parting. Yet it is all done quietly.

"We'll meet again, Shon," said Sir Duke, "and you'll remember your
promise to write to me."

"I'll keep my promise, and I hope the news that'll please you best is
what you'll send us first from England. And if you should go to ould
Donegal--I've no words for me thoughts at all!"

"I know them. Don't try to say them. We've not had the luck together,
all kinds and all weathers, for nothing."

Sir Duke's eyes smiled a good-bye into the smiling eyes of Shon. They
were much alike, these two, whose stations were so far apart. Yet
somewhere, in generations gone, their ancestors may have toiled,
feasted, or governed, in the same social hemisphere; and here in the
mountains life was levelled to one degree again.

Sir Duke looked round. The pines were crowding up elate and warm towards
the peaks of the white silence. The river was brawling over a broken
pathway of boulders at their feet; round the edge of a mighty mountain
crept a mule train; a far-off glacier glistened harshly in the lucid
morning, yet not harshly either, but with the rugged form of a vast
antiquity, from which these scarred and grimly austere hills had grown.
Here Nature was